


Leave It

by blueincandescence



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Time, formerly part of my Experimental Design drabble collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueincandescence/pseuds/blueincandescence
Summary: Bruce is racked with guilt after Ultron crashes the party, but Natasha convinces him to leave those feelings behind to spend the night with her as she originally intended.





	Leave It

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt — 7/31/15 Anon — Hi :) love your blog!! For the brucenat prompt thing: can you write their first time? Doesn't have to be smut (even tho I wouldn't complain if it ended with some ;) I was just thinking something really cute like Bruce being really scared and nat telling him that she's not afraid of him or something like that :) thank you <3

Bruce came through the doors of the southwest solarium like a drowning man breaching the surface of a wave. Filling his lungs with the cold night air, he blew out the guilt that had been rippling through him for hours. He had fallen for yet another transcendent fantasy only to have it transform into one more twisted horror. He’d accepted his guilt, apologized to the team. But what a relief it would be to indulge it. He breathed instead, in and out, and thought of calm.

Across his peripheral vision, red flickered. Still gasping, he turned his head and found a mask of moonlit serenity. There was a time when her stillness had crawled over his nerves. Now his fists unclenched, his breathing steadied. His heart continued to pound in her presence, skip, even, when the corner of her mouth tucked up.

“Leave it in there,” Natasha said. Her stance was defensive.

Behind her, fragrant plants and plush cushions were lit up in invitation. His green thumb, her spider nest. A sanctuary.  

Behind him was the knowledge that Tony was in mourning, the others fuming off their recrimination for the sake of the mission. Rhodey had alerted the Pentagon, NATO. Hundreds of people had no doubt been dragged from their beds to watch and warn and wait.

Bruce came forward. Natasha stood her ground. He kept moving until he was close enough to catch the perfume that lingered on her skin though she’d washed her face and changed out of her dress. He was still in his suit jacket, still flushed, despite the crossbreeze.

What else should he leave in there? She didn’t talk the way she had to him tonight where people could overhear. He didn’t drop his protests of a flirtation the way he had to Steve when people asked. They didn’t point their knees toward one another and let everyone else fade away. They left that — this, whatever they were, whatever they had become to each other — they left that out here.

Where it could develop in delicate increments, like Natasha’s hands coming up to slip his jacket from his shoulders. She folded it over her arm, stepping back to allow him to pass.

Bruce took off his dress shoes next to her heeled boots and climbed onto the raised seating area, heated from below and decorated in a blend of central Asian comforts. He settled cross-legged on the cushions, watching her hang his jacket beside the zip-up hoodie she’d worn earlier. Candlelight flickered over her features; the railing was lit up with luminaria. Her whispered movements were underscored by the soft sounds of nature, faraway and undisturbed by meddling man.

His gaze dropped to his lap, his stomach to the floor. Natasha sat next to him, their knees a breath away from touching. ‘Never say never,’ she’d said. Wouldn’t have said it, unless she was sure, had taken steps. He picked at a unbroken seam, thinking of the one that tied him to the moment where it had all gone wrong. He’d let himself give in to the temptation of ‘peace in our time’ because he was already so tempted. The impossible could have been the possible, if Bruce had only let it happen. Guilt was a stab, regret a sting. He was angry, either way.

“I said leave it.” Regret for Natasha sounded sharp, a knife’s blade slicing free the dead weight of what hadn’t come to be.  

“You weren’t going to. You were going to stay. ” His fingers spread to follow two seams running parallel toward a button. “I was going to stay.” The farewells were for Tony to Malibu, Thor to Asgard, Steve to Brooklyn, Clint to wherever Clint went. Leaving Bruce and Natasha out here. Alone, together. Tempted.

“It’s one more job, Bruce. Not the end of the world.” Irony filled the space between her syllables.

Guilt and regret flared. He put his hand over hers and gripped. Natasha’s eyes, open and assessing, met his. ‘You’re a fighter,’ he could explain to her. ‘Even when you know you can’t win.’ Fear was a throb.

Natasha leaned forward and kissed him. Not for the first time, though it felt like that each time. Bruce cradled her head with his free hand, bold now, because he knew she meant it. He’d always known, but had shied away from how much that meant to him. His fingers rubbed through her hair. Hers moved to unfasten his buttons, slide over his chest.

Their lips fastened, she coaxed him down with her. They rearranged their legs to tangle like their tongues. He braced an elbow behind her head, pressed himself against the line of her hip. Heat spread from his core to his skin, every inch of it straining to move against hers.

But Bruce was still gripping her hand, still gripped by the thread that stretched from the choice he’d made to the choice she wouldn’t hesitate making.

He let out the breath he’d been holding as Natasha pulled back, her face drawn up as if from an unpleasant taste. “You’re afraid.”

“I don’t want to be.” His admission came whispered and fast. Another vow, another plea for her to keep him safe.

Her legs encircled his waist to draw him into the cradle of her hips. “So leave it.” Her lips turned up at both corners.

Bruce kissed her, a drowning man once more. He wouldn’t turn green, but there was a danger he would break inside a different way. Bruce had wanted Natasha for so long, had denied himself for far longer. How could he not be afraid?

Natasha showed him how with her eyes, with her mouth. With her hand, loosening his grip. She traced the seams on his palms.

They rocked together and found each other’s skin. When neither of them could bear the wait, he anchored inside of her and stroked to the rhythm of her fingertips gliding over his pulse points.


End file.
